


miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee

by queerwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerwatson/pseuds/queerwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane meets Sherlock at a coffee shop. They fall in love. They bake, they kiss. Jane doesn't miss any trains or planes, but she does nearly miss work. Title credit to Jeanette Winterson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	miss a train or a plane to meet you for coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frek/gifts).



> Tonight I shirked my responsibilities to write dani birthday schmoop. That's what friends are for right?

Every morning on her way to the clinic, Jane got a small black coffee in her travel mug and a muffin for breakfast from the same coffee shop. Maybe it would have been cheaper in the long run to buy a coffee maker, but she still wasn’t sure if she’d get to stay in London, and she hated the taste of that bloody awful machine coffee anyways.

The same waitress took her order every morning - it even seemed like she might be the owner. She was tall and dignified and red-headed, and her name was something strange that started with an M. Jane’s order seemed imprinted on her brain, and usually it was handed to her before she could even ask for it. The woman just plucked Jane’s travel mug from her hand and traded her the muffin, then brought the coffee back with a polite nod and perfunctory thank you.

The other workers in back looked friendly but one girl looked awkward and the grey-haired woman looked tired, but bemused. Jane had a sneaking suspicion that the owner and the grey-haired woman were together.

Maybe it was strange, going to the same place all the time and never learning any of their names, but she never stayed for long. It was always in and out and off to work just a bit early.

Then one morning, when Jane went in to get her coffee, she asked for her usual and set down her mug, and was met with rather a curt response.

“My sister is recovering from her dentist appointment, so you’ll have to at least give me a name, if not your order. Of course I could try instead giving you what I think would suit, but I have a tendency towards giving people sugar regardless of if they want it.”

Jane looked up, and blinked. She did at least try not to gape. The woman behind the register was gorgeous - she could have been a model, really. Her eyes were grey, and almond-shaped, her cheekbones prominent. She was thin, and flat-chested, with short violently curly hair, and to say Jane was interested immediately was an understatement.

“Er. Sorry. I-... You don’t usually work here do you?”

The woman managed to look even more bored. “No. Normally I sit in that corner and get supplied with free coffee while I work. I’m a chemist, and I help Mycroft formulate new drinks and blends when I’m not busy working on articles. Is this small talk really necessary?”

Shaking her head, Jane swallowed and glanced down. “Sorry, no. Er. Jane, is my name. I just... need a small black coffee in that travel mug and a plain muffin.”

“Do you know which roast?”

This time a flush rose to her cheeks. Ordering coffee had never caused her this much trouble before - it had definitely never made her feel like she was in primary school all over again. “No, I don’t.”

With a nod, the woman went about getting Jane’s order ready, and Jane tapped her hands lightly on the counter. Men never gave her this much trouble - she had most of them figured out, having known so many. But women... Well it was harder to tell if a woman was interested, because less women were gay or bi or pan than men were straight, and Jane liked relationships that started with sex and then developed, usually.

Christ, this woman was especially... impossible, though. All limbs, but still graceful, gorgeous and a chemist and obviously so uninterested. Not a very good start for Jane’s confidence. When her mug was brought back to her, and the muffin handed over as well, she nodded, handed over her money, and muttered a polite, “Ta.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at the woman’s nametag.

Sherlock.

The coffee was the best she’d ever had.

That had been a Friday - the next Monday, she went back into the shop, and Mycroft had returned. The order proceeded as it always had, but she remembered what Sherlock had said, and glanced over to the corner. There, at a table, was that same gorgeous face. Sherlock wore a suit now, her legs crossed while she worked on something.

Gathering the courage she had scars to prove, Jane went over.

“Er. Hello. Sorry, I know you probably don’t... I don’t mean to interrupt...”

“So don’t.” Sherlock looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “I’m busy.”

Now that was just rude. Jane narrowed her eyes right back. “I just have a quick question, and I’ll leave you alone. Did you put something different in my coffee last Friday?”

Sherlock blinked, then smirked. “Did you like it?”

“Well... yes.”

She looked back down at her work, and Jane ended up looking at the pale stretch of the back of her neck. “It was a new blend. Nothing strange about it, but obviously I can’t tell you what’s in it or you’d not come back.”

“I actually don’t have a coffee machine, so I’d be back either way.”

This time Sherlock actually closed the file folder on her lap and looked at Jane properly. “No, you don’t, do you... Smallish flat, just out of the military, living alone, scraping on rent, hence the plain muffin and the small coffee in your own mug. A coffee machine may really save you money, but you want to indulge now that you can, and besides you don’t want to make any permanent arrangements yet.”

Jane gaped openly, mouth twitching up at the corners. “That is... how did you know all that?”

“I noticed.”

“You... but how?”

“I simply observed, it’s part of what I do. It’s easier to know than to explain.”

Shaking her head slowly, Jane sat down. “That is absolutely incredible. No one told you any of that? Really?”

Colouring a little, Sherlock looked out the window. “The tan lines on your wrist, the stiffness in your shoulder, your clothes and your coffee order told me.”

“Stiffness from the gunshot. Right. I... guess that makes sense? But tan lines? And why military? Why not just... I don’t know, police work or something.”

Sherlock looked back at her sharply and blinked. “Yes. The gunshot. But the tanlines are proof that you’ve been abroad in a uniform - not for a vacation. Also the way you hold yourself. Very military.”

Nodding slowly, Jane looked down, flexing her hand, and switching her coffee to the other. “That really is impressive.” She sipped at her coffee, then sighed a little. “Is there... a reason you can do that?”

“I just... find it useful.” She was still flushed, and it made Jane a little sad to think that Sherlock didn’t seem to get a lot of praise. “I write some of my articles based on my methods of deduction. I also use it to help with coffee, but as I said, there’s always something, and my something tends to be sugar. I don’t work here in an official capacity because it would please my cow of a sister far too much.”

“I heard that, Sherlock,” came a stern tone from behind the counter, and Jane pressed a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle.

This, however, brought her watch in view, and she stood up so fast she nearly spilled her coffee. “Shit! I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, I’ll be late for work.” Walking briskly to the door, she called over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Sherlock!”

She still managed to be a tad bit late, but as it wasn’t a habit, Sarah didn’t mind. In spite of herself, that night when she went to bed, she set her alarm early, and started looking forward to getting her coffee the next day.

When she got there, she got her order and made a beeline for Sherlock’s table. This time, there wasn’t a file, just a coffee, and Sherlock with her hands steepled under her chin, eyes closed.

“Er. Hello?”

Sherlock looked up, blinked, and smiled slightly. “Hello. I wondered if my sister had frightened you off. Her face will do that.”

Resisting the urge to snicker, Jane took a seat. “No, no. I’ve... I’ve been coming here for months actually. I just never noticed you over here in this little corner.”

Blinking, Sherlock inclined her head. “I lend myself to invisibility, it seems.”

Jane didn’t really know how to reply to that, and sipped her coffee instead.

“You’re a doctor, yes?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“And you were an army doctor?”

“Yes.”

Pulling out another file folder, Sherlock slid it over to Jane. “I don’t just write articles. I also write true crime, from a purely scientific approach. I enjoy providing solutions. This particular unsolved case, however, leads me to think I could use a second opinion. What do you think?”

Wincing a little, Jane flicked through the photos, but she noticed something. “These people... their throats have fingerprint shaped bruises, but according to the reports, none of their hyoid bones are broken. They’re... still in tact. Which happens occasionally, but not consistently like this. Which means they probably weren’t strangled to death at all. It was probably done either before or just after death, but it wasn’t the cause.”

Sherlock grinned. “Excellent. Something I was already aware of, but I appreciate your input, Dr...?”

“Dr. Watson.”

“Ah. Yes. Sherlock Holmes. If I’m not mistaken, you’re about to be late for work again.”

And so she was.

They continued on this way for weeks, talking about crime scenes or nothing in particular over coffee and Jane’s muffin. Jane could tell she’d fallen pretty hard, but she found Sherlock hard to read, in spite of considering her a friend.

Then one weekend, Harry got sick. The one thing Jane knew always made her feel better was baking, but she didn’t really have room in her tiny kitchenette. On a whim, she went to the coffee shop, bags under her eyes, hands fidgeting.

Technically, they were closed, but she could see Sherlock inside, and she knocked.

“Jane? It’s Sunday, what are you doing here?”

“I... um. God, this is... really weird isn’t it? I should just go, I’ll...”

“No, no!” Sherlock reached out, and grabbed her wrist. Jane stopped, and swayed on her feet a little. “What is it?”

Her friend’s voice was uncharacteristically concerned, and Jane turned back around. “My sister’s in the hospital. When... when we were little, my mom used to bake things with us, and in Uni I baked things and I’d take them home when I got too worried about med school finals, and my kitchen in my flat is... tiny at best. I thought... I thought since you have a kitchen here, and maybe you could actually use a massive amount of brownies...”

Nodding, Sherlock pulled Jane inside and locked the door behind her. “Of course. I’ll show you where things are and leave you to work. Mycroft can sell them - I’ll tell her I made them if she’s worried about sanitary and such.”

Jane smiled, and before she could think better of it, pulled Sherlock into a hug. It was awkward, and Sherlock’s arms folded around her as if they had no idea where to go, but it didn’t seem as if Jane’s affection was unwelcome.

“Thank you.”

She got set up in the kitchen, tied her hair back, and got to work.

There were brownies in the oven, and she was working on some muffins when Sherlock appeared. “I’ve finished my work,” she said. “I was wondering if you wanted help.”

Looking over her shoulder, Jane smiled, trying not to think about how messy she’d gotten, and the flour that may have been in her hair. “If you don’t mind. It’d be a godsend if you’d slice those strawberries for me.”

Sherlock nodded, and got to work. Jane went back to working with the dry ingredients, and humming under her breath. Soon she had assigned Sherlock to doling out the chocolate chip dough onto the pan, and somehow, Sherlock either accidentally or on purpose got some on Jane’s sweater.

Jane turned, eyes narrowed, and Sherlock tried to blink innocently. Having absolutely none of that nonsense, she practically dove, smearing her floury hands over all of Sherlock that she could reach, clothes, hair, and nose and cheekbones alike.

Grabbing a handful of partially melty chocolate chips, Sherlock smeared them over Jane’s face, and sputtering, she knocked Sherlock to the ground, and sat over her, one hand on her chest, floury handprint to prove it.

Smile and laughter fading just a bit, she blinked.

She was straddling her friend on a kitchen floor. Jane started to move, but Sherlock reached up to grip at her hips almost desperately.

It was unexpected, but not unpleasant. Jane stayed, only shifting to make herself more comfortable, hovering just slightly above Sherlock on her elbows.

“Jane.”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, really. There was a gorgeous woman sprawled beneath her, covered in her handprints, saying her name in a way that clearly meant, “Please.” Kissing Sherlock was the only thing she could have done.

Their lips shifted against each other, then tongues snuck out to taste cookie dough and flour and strawberry juice on the other’s lips. Hands stayed in safer areas - waists and hips - but they both knew what they wanted.

Eventually Jane sat back a little, and swallowed. “I didn’t... that wasn’t the plan, when I asked to use your kitchen.”

Sherlock blinked back, and smiled. It was the biggest smile Jane had ever seen on her, and she loved it. “I assumed.”

Laughing, she stood up, and helped Sherlock up as well. They put the rest of the non-destroyed baked goods in the oven and held hands while they cleaned up the mess to some extent.

When they were done, the kitchen was obviously not to its prior state - they may have gotten... distracted, a few times, pressing each other against counters, edges digging into hipbones while they’d kissed and kissed and kissed, breasts against ribs, stomachs against stomachs, softness pressed to protruding bones and fitting perfectly.

Still, there were muffins and brownies and cookies to make up for it. Mycroft would recover.

Jane hadn’t forgotten about Harry, and not everything was perfect, but it seemed like things might be on their way. They locked up the shop, and went outside, and Jane realized she didn’t want to go home.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Sherlock muttered, glancing away. “My flat has more than enough room for two. Is there any chance you’d like to move in?”

Biting her lip, Jane barely kept her grin from absolutely smitten territory. “I’d love to.”


End file.
